Our Existence
by xhelloxsweetnessx
Summary: The Death Eaters have grown in numbers, magic is shunned, death is certain. In the midst of a war Hermione finds solace, love, and compassion in an unexpected person. Rated M just in case. DMHG


Rated M for future sexual scenes, and violence. Though, nothing should be too explicit. 

_** Author's Note: **_My first fanfiction so I'm nervous about posting this. I don't have a Beta and if I get too many complaints about my grammar I'll check into it. Please review. :

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other characters in the book.**_

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**1. **

The astringent taste of coffee stained his tongue and a warmth fell to the pit of his stomach. Draco Malfoy welcomed the sensation with another hearty sip of the steaming coffee. On this cold January afternoon, clad in a simple dark gray overcoat and a black scarf, he sat in the cushioned seat of a muggle café looking out of it's windows.

With such an intensity an observer would rightly assume the world outside was beautiful; to hold his fascination so wholly. Unfortunately this was not so. Beneath the apparent innocent London streets was an aura of oppression pressing down hard on the frightened remnants of the magical world.

Beside every oblivious muggle, was a vigilant witch or wizard, coat pulled taut to conceal their sacrosanct face. The war against Voldemort had long since turned hopeless. The merry streets of Diagon Alley had been overtaken two years ago leaving them cold and ruthless. Like the leagues of dark wizards who assembled there now.

Draco, under the wing of his father, had been aware of the corrupt wizards of his old world. But the "revolution" that had taken place two fateful years ago had surprised even him. The shock of the few remaining honest witches and wizards at the mass number of Death Eaters was hard to imagine but Draco managed.

The death of Dumbledore had been a turning point in the war. He had been a beacon of hope against Voldemort and Dumbledore's demise left confusion and fear, but especially abandonment. A web of deceit followed Dumbledore's death in favor of Voldemort and the "revolution" took shape.

Plots to fight Voldemort had failed tremendously. Harry Potter had organized a society at Hogwarts in defiance of The Dark Lord, The Order of the Phoenix. But Voldemort had forced a forfeit by taking the lives of thousands of innocent people saying their death was in vain because of Harry Potter's defiance.

The horrors of Voldemort's manipulating efforts of submission on Harry's part were unspeakable. The calamity 19 years ago was laughable to what the Dark Lord now unleashed. It was sickening how in their fear, good families of witches turned bad, participating in horrendous acts against their neighbors. Fueled by desperation to be spared.

When it began death was in every step taken, there was nowhere safe to hide. Not even Hogwarts, which was plagued by spies and perfidy amongst members of The Order of the Phoenix.

A year and a half of unpredictable madness and torment had swept the world of wizards and witches. Random murders were used as examples and after the seeming fall of The Order of the Phoenix optimism was lost and cooperation was gained. Magic, wands, and spells became a thing of the past. In effort to save themselves most, if not all, people against Voldemort swore off magic and went into hiding as muggles.

However, Harry Potter had not given up completely. Surrender was necessary in Potter's plans, the well being of the wizard world in mind. For now laying low was essential.

Hardly six months ago Voldemort's mass murders had decreased as if in satisfaction of the fear it had caused. In it's stead came routine deaths. The 7th of every month a random, or so it seemed, civilian witch or wizard was killed. An obligatory precaution Voldemort made to keep the magical community at bay. The Dark Lord had yet to let loose his evil into the muggle world, where witches and wizards hid, but it was only a matter of time.

And so, life began to be less of an ambiguous danger. Death still haunted footsteps and safety was far from reach, but again, life or survival, as Draco knew it changed enormously.

Now he lived a fast paced life. Even in his subtle work as a photographer risks were constant and certainty was short-lived. He didn't work with a newspaper, rather with Harry Potter himself. An event that had come slow and painfully because of the two's irritable past. But after two years of suffering the boys had matured into men, the weight of innocent deaths on their shoulders. Now they were men capable of putting their trivial dislike aside, if not for good, for more _pressing _issues.

Draco kept tabs on potential Death Eaters and whenever possible, he was to try to get his hands on any plans Voldemort made. To say his job was perilous was an understatement. But it was the kind of danger Draco could handle. Sneaking around was his specialty, not fighting, nor killing. While his work was hard, it was cleaner than killing, less of a burden on his soul.

Now, as he sat by and watched the busy streets of London behind the glass, he unfurled the green flap of his bag and pulled from it's depths his camera. His precious camera, that had been through hell with him. It seemed odd to anyone who was not a photographer the idea that your camera was more important than your life.

Pictures could live on to tell the tale a photographer captured before death. Even if Draco's lips could never breathe a fleeting word of his final project, the pictures in his camera would. The photos in their frozen honesty would say everything, probably better than Draco could ever try to articulate into words.

Removing the lens cap and adjusting the focus Draco took a striking photograph. It depicted, perfectly, the contrasting worlds he lived in. A vibrant red phone booth stood confidently on the sidewalk against a dark gray, coercing backdrop of clouds. A couple, deep in a moment of their own intimate passion were pressed on one of booths red sides, kissing against grins.

The man, tall and dressed in a heavy black wool coat, had his strong arms were wrapped around a petite woman. She was several inches shorter and her black hat obscured her face, all but for the obvious grin on her lips. They kissed unaware of the rain, unaware of everything, unaware exactly like the muggle community.

To the right of the couple on the parallel side of the phone booth walking down the street was a witch Draco recognized immediately. Today as she walked on the puddle-ridden sidewalk she held a grim black umbrella above her. Her jacket collar was pulled up stiffly against her face, her dark brown hair whipped in the wind. Her brown eyes hauntingly empty, and her pale face blank.

It was Hermione Granger, a witch Draco had once known to be a feisty, witty, strong girl. Hermione had been full of potential to rule the whole goddamn world. But now as she took wary steps down the street she was empty and secretly traumatized. No glint in her eyes, nor quirky smile on her lips. The only hint of the hell she had been through was a deep, white jagged scar across her neck which was carefully covered by her collar.

Hermione's vacant and sorrowful appearance weighed down by her dour black umbrella was exactly what the magical world had become. Draco snapped a few more shots before he put his camera away and buckled his bag.

He downed the last of his now warm coffee and stood up. Reaching deep into his trouser pocket he pulled out two pounds and flopped them onto the table then with spontaneity coursing through his veins he exited his favorite muggle café and darted across the road toward Hermione.

He sauntered up beside her and said, "Afternoon Granger. Share an umbrella with a poor bloke during a storm?"

Hermione slid him a look and said, "Malfoy, you are hardly poor and this is hardly a storm. Where's your umbrella?"

"I don't have one." Draco said and shrugged. With a sigh of exasperation Hermione moved her umbrella up higher and gestured for Draco to move beneath it. He did.

"This is London you really should have an umbrella." Hermione said tonelessly, obviously uncomfortable by Draco's presence. It had been bold of him to approach her at all but her sadness was too overwhelming for him to do nothing.

"But asking a pretty lady is more to my advantage." Draco said grinning.

With a scoff Hermione pushed him half heartedly from beneath the covering of the umbrella. "Don't be insulting."

An immaturity came over Draco and he said, "Don't be alluring."

Hermione lifted an eyebrow as she looked over Draco. "Are you capable of having a conversation with a member of the opposite sex without hitting on them?"

"Yes. But again flirting is so much more advantageous."

"My, my, you sure are lenient with your words. If this is flirting I was asking you about the wrong capability." Hermione mused with a sadistic smile on her face.

"Ouch." Draco said. "Would you force me to find another generous umbrella bearer?"

"Of course not." Hermione stated sarcastically.

"Than you will be pleased to know I'm not so easily discouraged ." He smiled at her and winked.

Hermione snickered, "If it were so you would have left me alone years ago."

"What can I say? I'm persistent." What Hermione said was more than true.

When Draco first looked for solace with The Order of the Phoenix Hermione had been more than unwelcoming. Her dislike ran deep and mistrust deeper. Draco was still disliked by a majority of the members of the society.

His angry years of adolescence had been ones to endure for everyone. He still to this day, regretted some of the things he had done to his peers during school. When Dumbledore died Draco had been lost and guilty. To this day he still felt responsible and it was no secret that some people did too. Draco's mother and father had abandoned him soon after the death of Dumbledore. He was left alone.

Severus Snape eventually revealed that Dumbledore had set up his own death and had told The Order of the Phoenix that in his death wishes he wanted Draco to be a part of the secret society.

And so, begrudgingly in honor of Dumbledore's wishes he was asked to join them. Albus Dumbledore was the only person who ever believed in Draco. He had never realized this until he was asked to join The Order.

Over the year and a half Draco had worked with The Order though Harry and Hermione's dislike began to ease. Though not anywhere near completely dissipated he felt a fragile truce come between them. However, Draco couldn't say as much for Ronald Weasley who still hated him thoroughly.  
There was an uneasy silence as the two walked with Draco was lost in thought. Hermione had her gaze averted and face carefully set blank. As they walked if Draco looked at her he saw a her scar just a bit, a vivacious white against her ivory skin. It sent a ping of anguish through him to see Hermione so fragile.

After about a block Draco spotted a deli and asked hesitantly, "Would you like a sandwich? That deli is superb."

Hermione looked at him incredibility faint in her brown eyes. "I don't really like sandwiches."

Draco nodded hiding his small disappointment, "Then thank you for your umbrella. See you another time, maybe we'll get hotdogs instead! And don't say you don't like hotdogs because Miss Granger, everyone likes hotdogs. Everyone."

He stepped out from beneath her umbrella a small droplet of water landing on his shoulder. He turned toward the deli and walked away. When he made it in the deli he turned back cautiously to see Hermione walking away a small smile on her lips.

Perhaps he could help her, like no one had ever helped him in his desolation. Perhaps he could save a small fragment of the Hermione that was buried somewhere deep down beneath her scarred, sad exterior. Perhaps….


End file.
